Our One True Age (poem) by John Herlihy on AuthorsDen

Our One True Age
by John Herlihy → (All Poetry by John Herlihy)
Friday, November 23, 2018 Rated "G" by the Author.

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Our One True Age By John Herlihy How old are you, someone asked me? The answer obviously is plain to see. The bald head, white beard, give it away, Just give it a number and have your say. But why do I have to be any particular age? Why can’t I be a chancellor, an earl, a sage? Why not a professional, a peasant or pauper? Why identify me only as a fixed number proper? While true that time does take on us its toll, Is there an age to identify us as truly whole? Animals don’t change; but still give age away; The puppy and kitten always exult in their play. The pup wrestles his little buddies in a tumble, Kittens nip, scratch, and bite in a furry rumble. No one seeks to wonder just how old they are, Any more than we ask the age of a distant star. I once had a beloved cat whose name was Mimi, Named after a character in La Boheme by Puccini. Born into the arid wilds of the desert in Arabia Felix; She had the indominable spirit of an ageless phoenix. True to form, she sang her way thru her endearing life; Her voice striking meaningful notes like a musical fife. She lived to be nearly 25, her unique life was her own; Her voice finally gave her age away as a painful moan. Still the question of age always comes back to haunt. As we grow older, our age lingers as a specter to taunt. Some youth seem old, while some elderly seem young; Age not reduced to a number of musical notes unsung. How old would I say I am if I didn’t know my true age? Like trying to find your place if a bookmark lost its page. Do I claim my true age to be twenty, forty, sixty or eighty? Do the years mount the life scale with a balance weighty? Truth to tell, if I look within, I see the depths of a deep well; The mind fixated on time, but the soul eternal time to tell. As a young man, I wished to tell a story never before heard; As an old man, I feel as the unfettered spirit of a free bird. Years of life pass away into the misty dream of a new dawn; My soul identity a ground where runs freely an innocent fawn. The events of life fill countless pages; life itself a player’s stage; The ageless universe will unlock the secret of our one true age. - - - - - - (c) John Herlihy November 2018

Reviewed by Jms Bell

Reviewed on November 30, 2018

ONE CANNOT IGNORE, THE OUTWARD MAN(BODY)AND ITS APPEARANCE, WHICH AGES DAY BY DAY, CHANGES AND LOSES THE ABILITY TO FUNCTION AS IT ONCE DID. HOWEVER, THE BODY'S DETERIORATION HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE INNER MAN(SPIRIT) WHICH IS AGELESS AND NEVER GROWS OLD. PHYSICALLY SPEAKING, WE ARE MORTAL, WE AGE AND CAN COUNT THE NUMBER OF YEARS WHICH ATTEST TO THIS FACT. SPIRITUALLY SPEAKING, WE DO NOT AGE, WE ARE IMMORTAL AND WILL LIVE ON FOREVER. OUR ONE TRUE AGE? SOME THINGS WE WILL NEVER KNOW ON THIS SIDE. THANKS FOR SHARING. LOVE, BLESSINGS AND FAITH...JOYCE * HIS INSPIRATIONS

Reviewed by D.T. de Bruijn

Reviewed on November 23, 2018

being young and being old both have their charms, I guess. Loved the poem!

Reviewed by Sandie May Joyce (Sandie Angel)

You are who you are at any age and any time, anywhere. It's all about numbering yourself. I wonder who was that wretched person who invented this "age" thing to calculate how old we are. I'm sure those cave men and cave women in the ancient days didn't give a damn about this numbering system.

Sandie

Reviewed by Kalikiano Kalei

Lots to reflect upon in this one, John. Rhyming aside, it could stand on its own as a philosophical paean questioning the veracity of Cronos' wife, Rhea, who, despite her symbolic exemplification of fertility and the celebration of coital procreativeness, was actually a cruel dominatrix whose schadenfreude subtly underlay that respect for which she was commonly regarded by the ancient Greeks. We so often neglect to reflect (in the haste of our youthful urges) upon the fact that the act of birth is not an occasion for rejoicing, but the eventual consequence of a doomed synergy (e.g sex) of pending, future death. The act of birth actuates the manifestations of aging that are latter such a mortal trial in the human life cycle, like some sort of hypergolic metaphysical catalyst. I no more enjoy aging than anyone else (regardless of the protestations of some to the contrary: "Yes, I greatly enjoy gradual physical deterioration! I absolutely LOVE decrepitude." Liars!), but viewed from a certain contra-Schopenhauer stance, I have to admit it does provide occasional great material for prose and poetry! To one reluctant geezer from another, I tip my Apollonian/Dionysian goblet!

Reviewed by Ronald Hull

You have laid out the old age conundrum of age very well with a few illustrations in the poem. Even though I have changed drastically in the past few years, others always tell me that they think that I am much younger than my real age. I certainly like to think young, although I do pull back from many activities because I simply just cannot do them.

Just the thought of a cat living in the desert, catching mice and lizards for food, must be very daunting, although I believe lions and tigers have survived in the desert as long as they could find water. So your kitten became Methuselah if she lived to be 25. One tough cat.

Ron

Reviewed by Michael Schafer

How about we group it into young, middle age, old, ancient, and never more. And I was always told to never ask a woman her age. By the time my wife was 30, her hair had turned a silvery white, We'd go to amusement parks where someone tries to guess your age. More often than not the carny would say, just pick your prize. I'm not even going to try to guess.

Reviewed by Mystic Rose

I think we deserve to be any age we want to be and feel. Wouldn't that be nice, (smile) have a wonderful day, and just for one day pretend your 40, I like that age, its the age of wisdom, strength, and stamina. Love xo